


Rightful Wielder

by wynnebat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Getting Together, M/M, Object Insertion, Overstimulation, Sex for Favors, Sibling Incest, Supernatural S06E12: Like a Virgin, sentient object, sword kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 22:02:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2404433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sword of Bruncvik is waiting for the king who is fated to lift it; it isn't going to budge for any old plastic explosives. But it can be persuaded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rightful Wielder

**Author's Note:**

> I am endlessly amused by the fact that there seems to be only one purpose for the sentient object tag. Sword kink is synonymous with swords, though, which makes me feel a bit bad for people looking for sword-fighting and finding this. 
> 
> See end note for an explanation of the consent issues.

The blast of plastic explosives echoed in the room of the stone, the pressure of the explosions enough to slam the double doors against Dean's back as he held them shut. Dr. Visyak stood much farther away, and gave Dean a reproving glance, like she knew exactly how easy it could've been to slam a wardrobe against the doors instead of keeping them closed himself. But screw that; Dean was going to be the first to see a thousand year old sword released from its stone prison.

"Easy as pie," Dean said to Dr. Visyak when his ears finally stopped ringing. He pushed himself up from his position against the doors and pushed them open, letting the smoke clear from the room. It made way for the clearing visage of a large, rough piece of stone in the middle of the room, sitting atop a carved altar and across from an old Czech tapestry. Inside the stone, with only its handle sticking out, was the Sword of Bruncvik.

And despite Dean's confidence, the stone was completely unblemished. It didn't have a single crack, not even in the areas where he'd attached the explosives.

"I don't suppose you have a plan B?" Dr. Visyak asked, one elegant eyebrow raised.

"I could try a jackhammer," Dean said uncertainly. He had a feeling that if explosives didn't work, a jackhammer wouldn't either; there was most definitely magic at play. Either that or Dr. Visyak had discovered a new, completely unmalleable element.

"Perhaps you should meditate on the stone, with your palm atop the hilt of the sword. That is what the legends say Bruncvik did," she suggested, ignoring Dean's look of incredulity. "He opened his mind to the sword, and the sword found his cause worthy."

"Well, if everything else's failed, why the hell not," he said. Time to talk with a stone. He'd done weirder things.

"I'll leave you to it," Dr. Visyak replied, and turned to leave.

For a moment Dean just appreciated the fact that she could look that good at her age, his gaze lingering on her butt as she walked away. But soon, Dr. Visyak was gone, the door shut behind her, and Dean got back to business. There were people's lives depending on this; he couldn't screw it up by hitting on someone who had already had one hunter on her shit list.

He approached the stone, cautiously (and hopefully) pressing his hand against the rock. It didn't fall apart, or even move; there probably wasn't damage inside. Not if the outside looked so rosy. Using the hilt of the sword as his grip, he climbed onto the stone and sat down, Indian-style.

"No way in hell I'm doing lotus," he told the sword. Lisa might've been that bendy, but he sure wasn't.

Dean wrapped his left hand around the hilt of the stone, tugging lightly on the sword in case it decided to budge, and closed his eyes.

Nothing happened.

After a few moments, nothing was still happening.

There wasn't a clock in the room, but Dean was pretty sure it had been a couple minutes, and still nothing occurred.

He was probably doing this meditation thing wrong.

What had Bruncvik thought of? He should've asked Dr. Visyak more about the legend. But what was there for knights a thousand years ago to think of?

Dean concentrated on an image of stabbing the sword into whatever a dragon looked like (surely they weren't the Hobbit kind of dragons). No luck. He thought about heroic goals and noble deeds and the fact that he was the fucking righteous man, whatever that meant. He named as many of the people he'd saved as he remembered, and described the ones he didn't. He listed the many monsters he'd been able to kill without needing this damn blade's help. Still no luck.

Eventually, he gave up an let his thoughts drift.

Sam was hale and whole, only days out of hell and already on a hunt. Bobby was pissed, but dealing with it. The pizza he'd had for lunch hadn't gone down very well; his stomach felt somewhat queasy, and that really meant something because Dean could eat almost anything without getting sick. Sam had ordered a chicken salad and a shake, and Dean had felt like he'd been on a date. Lisa had always ordered the same thing. But his feelings for Lisa had never been as complicated as his feelings for Sam, never as fierce and conflicted and denied and resurfaced.

And denied again, as Dean forced himself to remember the way Dr. Visyak's skirt curved around her shapely butt. It wasn't hard to switch tracks. A little light fantasizing (about the right person) never hurt anyone.

His cock perked right up, even though it should've known that Dean wasn't about to jerk off on top of some sort of sacred sword. With the way he was concentrating on his fantasy, Dean almost missed the heat coming off the sword.

It began slowly, just enough to warm his fingers, and heated as Dean thought about Dr. Visyak.

"Do you... like that?" Dean asked, flabbergasted. Did the sword have a crush or something?

The sword instantly cooled, to the point where Dean almost removed his hand from the hilt.

"No, wait," he quickly said, trying to keep the sword from going dormant again. "You don't like her. Okay. What do you like? Virgins? Women?" The sword kept its coldness. "Sex?" It warmed slightly. "Right. Sex. Uh. I can't actually find you a girl sword to hook up with." It wasn't like there was a list of sentient swords with boners out there.

A feeling of unamused patience inserted itself in the back of his mind.

"Freaky," Dean muttered. "Alright, you're not looking for a girl sword, but you're looking for sex. Sex with rocks? Is that how you got here?"

The sword's temperature dipped enough to pinch at his skin, then rose again.

It wasn't appreciating Dean's obtuseness, so he gave up the fight. "Sex with women?" Nothing. Dean gulped. "Sex with men?"

The sword budged, just a little.

"Holy fuck," Dean muttered. He'd actually done something right.

Then he realized exactly what he'd done.

"And by that you mean..." Dean trailed off. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

A heartbeat later, his mind was assaulted with images. Himself, bent over the stone, legs spread open and hands spreading his buttocks. Dim lighting, but light enough to see glistening oil sliding inside his body and leaking down his thighs. Dean gripped the sword tightly as his mouth dried and his hole clenched. He wanted to call it an effect of fear, but the sword wouldn't let him lie to himself. Neither did his mind as it zeroed in onto the fantasy of the sword floating out of the stone and sliding into Dean's hole. The Dean in the fantasy didn't move except for a long moan, but the real Dean shuddered with arousal. His cock was rock hard, and from the way his hole was twitching, his body was ready to accept everything his mind wasn't.

Then the images stopped, and Dean instantly let go of the sword and jumped off the stone like all of hell was at his heels. Or rather, a deviant sword was going for his ass.

"What the _hell_?" he yelled. "You're pervert."

To his relief, the sword didn't—and hopefully couldn't—reply. Dean wiped the hand that had touched the sword on his pants, trying to erase the feelings of shame coursing through him. He'd gotten aroused, extremely aroused, at the thought of sticking a sword up his ass. There was something wrong with him, because this was on par with having dirty thoughts about his brother, and Dean had always hoped he'd get less deviant as he grew older, not more.

"I'm not doing it," he told the sword, just in case it couldn't feel his revulsion. Or at least he hoped it was revulsion; it was hard to tell, especially since his cock was still rock hard. It _was_ an attractive sword, not rusted at all, and if it sent waves of pleasure like that throughout the whole experience, it might just be the best sexual experience of Dean's life. That didn't change the fact that he wasn't going to let something other than a proper sex toy near his ass.

The same place the sword had occupied earlier was suddenly filled with amorphous grumbling. _That's discrimination,_ Dean pieced together.

"That's common sense," he replied. "And oi, stop that telepathy stuff."

The presence left.

"...thanks," Dean said. At least it was good with boundaries. But he still wasn't going to do it. There had to be another way.

.

An hour later, he came back with a jackhammer.

"You're not serious," Dean groaned as the jackhammer met the stone and failed to sink in. No chips of rock slid off the stone, no dent was made despite his strength pushing against the rock. He spent half an hour trying to gain a way into the stone, but only ended up sweating a lot and bruising his hands from the effort he was putting in.

He also found two new messages on his phone from Sam: the first about a new victim of the dragons, the second about how they really needed that sword, pronto, was Dean having problems obtaining it?

Fuck yeah, he was having problems. Dean closed his eyes and rested his weary head against the wall. He was having problems, but his problems weren't worth people's lives. Would it be that bad if he just went through with it? It wasn't like Dean was particularly virtuous. He could handle this. He handled wearing Cassie's panties just fine, and he's handled years of pushing Sammy away whenever he got a certain look in his eye. It wouldn't be terrible. It wouldn't even be bad sex. It would just be... something he didn't want to do.

Eventually, he pushed himself off the wall, and did what had to be done. It wasn't the time to be selfish; he'd been selfish for a whole year, living with Lisa while Sam was being tortured by Lucifer and Michael in hell.

Dean grasped the sword's hilt and focused on the terms: the sword would kill the dragons in the area, and Dean would fuck himself with its hilt. He wanted to avoid even thinking the words, but he knew enough about deals that leaving them open to interpretation lead nowhere good. The sword responded with an image of how exactly Dean's skewering would go if he didn't fulfill his promise. It slid out of the stone fluidly, like a knife through butter, like had't been stuck there for centuries. Once it was firmly in Dean's hands, it sent a wave of thankfulness and eagerness through Dean. One tendril of that wave went straight through to his cock and balls, filling them with knee-shaking pleasure. Dean's eyes rolled up at the heady feeling, pleasure filling him up until he was ready to agree to anything. But a spark of rationality broke through the haze.

"Woa, woa, not _now_ ," Dean yelped, his mind clearing as he realized what the pleasure was preparing him for. He dropped the sword. It hovered in the air and floated downward at its own pace, hitting the hard surface with a clang. "You're doing your part of the bargain first, alright? Dragon-killing is probably easy for you. Taking something up my— yeah, that's not as easy for me. I'd need lube. And a scabbard so that I don't end up cutting my fingers off. And the dragons dead, because otherwise my ass isn't going to let me hunt them afterwards."

The sword rattled against the stone.

"I'm not budging on this."

The sword quieted down, allowing Dean to take it by the hilt and sending a jolt of unhappy agreement to him.

"Yeah, of course, you think you have a rotten deal," Dean muttered. "Bastard."

He had a feeling that if it could, the sword would be leering at him. It wasn't very reassuring.

.

If Dean had any intensions of backing out of his agreement because of the sword's lack of dragon-killing skills, it proved to be impossible. The hunt had been laughably easy. Sam and Dean had managed to locate the dragon's sewage system lair, and as soon as they'd gotten close enough the sword had been able to point them in the right direction. It had slid out of the scabbard Dr. Visyak had loaned him—given with a long speech about how the sword had better come back in the same shape it was—and floated off down the tunnel sharp end first. Eventually, it reached the area where the virgins were locked, and waited for Sam and Dean to rescue them.

When the dragons came, it flew through the air like a bullet and slid through each man before he even got the chance to transform.

Dean watched it do its work with awe, and patted the hilt once it slid back into the scabbard belted to Dean's waist. "Good job."

Sam gave him a weird look, while the sword just warmed with happiness. It also gave his cock a nudge, which Dean was a lot less happy about. He sighed. There was nothing else he could do here; Sam had the hostage situation handled (now that he was soul-full, Dean was happy to pass off the dealing-with-the-normals duty to him), two dragons were dead, and the sword didn't sense any more around. They'd done their job. Now Dean just had to do his.

"Catch," he called to Sam, throwing him his car keys so that Sam would be able to get to their motel later.

"Where are you going?"

"Dr. Visyak's," Dean said with a leer.

Sam's bitch face was a sight for sore eyes. "And you're leaving me with the girls?"

"You can handle it," Dean replied. "Just let the police deal with everything."

"Fine," Sam muttered.

Dean felt the urge to ruffle Sam's hair, but contained himself. Instead, he turned around with a wave and strode off, the sword practically levitating him in the direction of the exit. Once he was out in the fresh air, he stopped at a corner store to buy some supplies; lube and tape was a must. Once bought, he wrapped the tape around the hilt of the sword and the sheath, enough to keep it stable and locked tight. No one commented on the sword around his waist or the obvious bulge of his cock, but the cashier sure stared. Dean shot her a wink, but didn't bother to stay and chat. He was taken for the night.

"Weren't the middle ages against the whole butt thing?" he asked as he walked to the nearest motel, one that wasn't occupied by his little brother.

The sword warmed and sent a wave of annoyance at Dean. He could almost hear it saying, _Yeah, and it sucked balls._

Maybe Dean was getting to close to the sword.

The point was pretty moot, since he was going to get even closer to it. Reacting to his thoughts, the sword warmed with pleasure, lighting up Dean's nerves and shooting a wave of arousal through his cock. Unlike the last couple of times, the pleasure didn't stop abruptly, instead continuing to flow through him.

Slowly, Dean's blush covered his ears as he realized this wasn't going to be much of a hardship at all.

"Fine, fine, contain yourself," he muttered as he signed out a room for the night. The dude on night duty gave him the side eye, and Dean didn't even bother trying to explain that he really wasn't talking to himself. Instead, he walked slowly to the room and walked inside.

Crap. It looked like he really was going to do this. He'd been hoping for some kind of intervention, divine or otherwise, but it looked like short of getting skewered for breaking the deal, he wasn't getting out of this one.

Just as he threw his supplies onto the bed, a knock came on the door. Dean turned around to look into the peephole and groaned.

"Why are you here?" he asked as he opened the door.

Across from him stood his wayward younger brother, whose first glance was inside the motel room.

"You're not meeting with Dr. Visyak," he said, certainty coloring his tone. "I knew you were lying."

"She's late," Dean replied easily.

Sam just glared at him. "I didn't leave my mind behind in hell. I know how you act when you're hiding something from me."

Dean sighed, shaking his head. "Fine. You want to know? You've been back for a year and a half. I was going to tell you, but..." He trailed off, trying to think of when he would've told Sam what had really happened. He knew himself too well to believe that he'd have told Sam anytime soon.

"I know; Cas told me. But you're still avoiding something."

Jesus, Dean's brother was a bloodhound. "Well, you're not getting anything out of me. So piss off."

"Dean—"

"What?" Dean snapped. This night was bad enough without Sam butting in.

Sam looked around hopelessly for information, and his eyes zeroed in on the motel bed, on which lay the Sword of Bruncvik and a couple packets of lube. In seconds, Sam's eyes snapped from the sword to Dean's face and back, staring at the bed for too long, and Dean knew Sam had understood. He wished it hadn't been so easy for Sam to come to that conclusion — really, what kind of pervert did he think Dean was?

"I made a deal with the sword, jeez, stop looking at me like that," Dean said, trying to get it over with. "It wasn't going to leave the stone."

"And so you..."

"Agreed to something that's none of your business," Dean growled.

Sam swallowed, still staring at the hilt. "Look, Dean, it's a magical sword. Who knows what it could do to you?"

"It's been pretty good so far," Dean said.

"Let me stay and make sure you're alright, at least."

"Ha, no way," Dean replied, beginning to close the door. He wasn't going to stay and chat with Sam about this. But before he could fully close the door, Sam's hand was pushing against it, keeping it from closing.

"Please, Dean," he said through the crack. "Just let me... let me stay."

Dean shook his head, but his hand was already letting go of the door. What could he say to that, when Sam had been in hell for a year and a half?

"No funny business," Dean said, not sure what he really meant, but Sam nodded all the same.

Sam walked over and pulled out the chair from the desk, dragging it over to the wall across from the end of the bed. It was the best position to make sure Dean wouldn't get hurt, Dean decided, and didn't let himself overthink it. Sam was just being careful. He didn't choose the place where he'd see the most action just so he could perv on Dean.

That didn't make it any easier to strip off his clothes, first his shoes and socks, then his jeans and boxers, and finally, after a moment of thought, his shirt. If he was going to do this, he might as well do it right. Dean rubbed his arms, trying to warm himself up in the cool room. After a minute, he forced himself to move closer to the bed. His flaccid cock swung as he walked, and Dean was uncomfortably aware of Sam's eyes on him.

"Jeez, some privacy?" he muttered as he climbed onto the bed. He shoved the sword aside and grabbed one of the packets of lube, ripping it open and coating the fingers of his right hand with it. This was still familiar territory, and Dean was no blushing virgin. When they were slick with lube, he lowered himself until he was supported by his knees and shoulders.

"Sorry," Sam replied, his voice low and strained.

Dean closed his eyes. This wasn't the time for him and Sam. It would never be the time for yearning, for dreaming, for wishing for something that would never be right.

"Sorry," Sam said again, and this time his voice was normal, unaffected by desire. Dean was pretty sure it was all a facade, but he appreciated it all the same. "Go on."

Dean did, finding his hole with his wet fingers and coating it with lube as he slid one in. He wasn't a stranger to sex with men, but the last had been years ago. His body wasn't used to this, and definitely wasn't used to the length and girth of the sword. Neither was he used to the hungry look in his brother's eyes that Dean caught whenever he glanced backward, or the way Sam's pants had a noticeable tent in them.

One finger slid in easily, breaching his hole with minimal effort. The second burned as he, shoved it in beside the third. His hole barely let both fingers in, but after more lube and movement, it let him scissor himself. A third finger was harder to shove inside, both because of the position and his body, and Dean had to grit his teeth to take it inside. But at the same time, his cock was still half hard at the memory of the pleasure the sword had sent through him. It knew the sword wouldn't let it down once Dean allowed it inside. Even now, it was buzzing with energy as it laid next to him.

Soon enough, he was as ready as he could be. Dean grabbed another packet of lube along with the sword and ripped the packet open, squirting the entire thing on the hilt. He spread the lube out evenly, feeling the sword's barely contained eagerness running through his skin.

Then he reached behind himself, holding the sword with both hands against his hole. He breathed deeply, twitching when the top of the hilt first met his skin. It was cold and hard, nothing like anything that had ever been inside him. His hands were straining to hold its weight, but instead of throwing it down like he wanted to, he began to push it inside.

As soon as the tip of the sword breached his hole, a pleasure like nothing he'd ever felt ran through him, setting every nerve in Dean's body on fire. Dean gasped from the unyielding pleasure, gasped until he could barely breathe. It was too much and not enough, too hot and too cold, too good for him to concentrate.

His hands wavered around the sword, unable to both keep going and keep feeling. He was almost about to drop the sword, deal be damned, when he felt a hand wrap around his own.

"I've got it," Sam said, holding the sword by its scabbard with one hand and unwrapping Dean's fingers from it with the other. That was good, because Dean couldn't quite remember how to let go. He could've probably asked the sword to fuck him, but Dean wasn't sure what kind of control it had over its movement, and he didn't relish the idea of it going too far and just _not stopping_.

He did remember the matter of incest, and was about to tell Sam no when Sam inched the hilt farther inside him. The no became a moan, one nothing like Dean had ever given. He didn't care about the noise; he didn't care who heard it through the thin motel walls. His legs gave way and he fell flat onto the bed, no longer trying to hold himself up.

And still Sam kept pushing it inside, until finally he reached the end of the hilt, the wide, the cold, metal cross-guard hitting the area around his hole and causing him to give a full-body shake.

The sword wasn't letting up, was sending more pleasure than Dean could handle through him. It focused especially on his cock and balls, and spikes of pleasure ran through them. Once Sam started the slow drag of the sword out of his body, Dean's body gave in to it all, an orgasm wound from him before he could think to stop it. His vision blurred, his voice left him, his toes curled, and his hole clenched down on the sword until Sam stopped trying to tug it out. It was the first time he'd ever come without touching his cock.

Dean lost track of time, too wrapped up in pleasure, but came back to himself as Sam began to slide the sword out of his body. When Dean could barely feel it inside him, only the tip of the hilt still in his hole, Sam stopped.

"I can't move it," Sam said. "Dean..."

 _Once more,_ the sword whispered, and lessened the overwhelming pleasure, letting Dean's oversensitive skin rest.

"Once more," Dean told Sam, his voice hoarse.

Sam rubbed Dean's lower back, and Dean shuddered in response. He clamped his eyes shut and rode out the slide of the sword, its rhythmic push and pull. Despite his orgasm, his cock was already hardening again. It felt so damn good, better than anything ever had, and it wasn't only the effect of the sword. It was Sam's hand on his lower back, the way he stroked it up and down, the way he kept murmuring things Dean couldn't hear under his breath. Things Dean didn't want to hear, because it had never been Sam who'd pushed Dean away. It had never been Sam who'd wanted to do the right thing, who'd said no, who'd never voiced his feelings. It had always been Dean.

And now, it was Sam who was thrusting inside him, despite it not being Sam's cock, and Dean had never felt more alive. He lost track of the time, the thrusts, the pleasure, just listening to Sam's voice and moaning in approval. Right now, the only thing that mattered was Sam—not the way Dean's body ached with pain-laced pleasure.

His next orgasm built slowly, curling through his body until Dean trembled and let himself go. A wave of what could only be magic rushed from the sword and inside him, and Dean wondered if this was what orgasm was like for a sentient sword.

This time, Sam was able to fully slide it out, and Dean was achingly empty for a moment before he felt something enter inside him. He began to move, but Sam's voice pierced his orgasmic haze.

"It's alright, Dean. I'm just making sure I didn't harm you."

Despite everything that had happened, it was only now that Dean felt a blush run across his face. He buried his face in the pillow, trying to ignore how intimate it felt to have a part of Sam inside him, even if it was just to check up on him. Sam's fingers rubbed the walls of his hole and pressed deep inside, occasionally being taken out to check for blood. And then Sam put them right back in, in a way that couldn't be a cursory check-up. Not with the way he curled his fingers, or spread them apart inside him. By the time Sam inserted more lube inside, Dean was shaking from overstimulation, not just shivering.

And then his fingers left, and Dean was entirely empty. Dean waited for something, anything, anticipation and nervousness curling in his stomach, but Sam only waited. Finally, he managed to flip himself over and look over at Sam.

"Does the sword want anything else?" Sam asked. His eyes were locked on Dean's.

Dean swallowed. Sam was making Dean make a choice, when Dean would've been happier if Sam had just made it for him. It was just like his brother to be contrary. But... This way, he could have this—this thing they'd been dreaming of for years—and blame it on the sword. Even though both of them knew the dormant piece of metal beside Dean had nothing to do with this.

A stronger man would've said no. An even stronger one would've said it wasn't the sword who wanted this.

"Yeah, I think it does," Dean said. He could barely look at Sam from shame, the shame of giving in after so long and not even giving in correctly. But that didn't matter, because soon enough Sam was stripping down

He knew Sam's body: he'd sewn together his skin, watched him get most of his scars, bathed him when he was young, watched him grow up. But now he realized he hadn't known anything. Now, he let his eyes linger on everything he'd denied himself: the bulges of Sam's muscles, the way his collarbone begged to be bruised, the long, thick length of his cock. Dean tried not to compare it to his own and failed. It seemed he'd gotten the worse genes in the family. And wasn't that just fucked up, that he was loose and wet and ready for someone with whom he shared his genes.

"Stop thinking so hard," Sam said, running his hand across Dean's cheek. "You want this, right?"

"Yeah." It was true; Dean was greedy, and he wanted one night of sin. One night where he could just ignore the world and have sex with a sword and his brother. He wanted this, needed it, after not seeing his brother for a year and a half. But he was tired and sore and maybe it wasn't the best decision to make, but it was his. "Yeah."

Sam pressed against him, lining his cock up with Dean's hole, and Dean breathed sharply in through his nose when Sam slowly slid inside. It was done; he had another crime to his name. Through it all, Sam's gaze didn't waver, and when Dean closed his eyes, Sam leaned down and kissed him. And his brother's naked skin was touching Dean's, his lips were touching his, his cock was thrusting inside—and the moan Dean let out was one of defeat. He couldn't regret this night. Dean kissed Sam back, sharing even this with his brother. Eventually, Sam pulled back, just an inch away, their bodies still moving against one another, and took Dean's half-hard cock in hand. It was the first time it was touched that night.

"Sam," Dean moaned, wanting to say how he couldn't come, not now, not again, but Sam's mouth caught his own in a kiss, stealing his breath.

Sam almost stopped thrusting completely, only pushing against Dean in small, slow waves as he pulled on Dean's cock and pushed into his mouth. It felt like every part of him was touched by Sam, every part of him singing to Sam's tune. Sam wasn't hitting Dean's prostate anymore, the gland too sensitive after the night's use, but his thrusts brought a slow kind of pleasure through him. Dean's breath hitched as he hit a plateau of pleasure, and he knew he'd orgasm soon. Sam's lips curled into a smile, and his hand around Dean's cock slowed in its motions.

The sound Dean made in his throat wasn't a whine, but it was something close. Sam's kiss didn't let up, the hold on Dean's head not allowing him to shift and complain. He could always throw Sam off, he knew, but that wasn't the same. He couldn't tell whether or not he truly wanted to come, whether or not this was the right thing, whether or not he'd regret it later. He could barely tell up from down. All he could trust was that Sam knew what he was doing, because Dean sure as hell didn't.

Finally, Sam stuttered in his thrusts and came, sending hot come through Dean's passage. He stroked Dean harder in response, and finally Dean's cock let out a small strand of white come as he orgasmed. It was all he could give after the night, and Sam instantly let go of his cock, as if he knew just how painful it now was.

He slipped out of Dean and collapsed onto the bed beside him, shoving the sword onto the floor.

"You okay?" Sam asked, wrapping the bedcovers around them.

"Yeah," Dean said, and closed his eyes. "Best night with a sword I've ever had."

He fell asleep with Sam's laugh still on his mind.

.

The next morning, Dean woke up to Sam's kiss and Sam's fingers in his hole, and couldn't think of a better way to spend his days. Maybe, just maybe, this could survive the light of day. Maybe it would be alright to let it last more than one night.

.

Later, after almost a day of staying in bed, the rest of the world be damned, they finally got around to returning the sword.

"Here it is, m'am," Dean said, handing the sword back to Dr. Visyak. "It killed another two dragons." He half hoped—only half, because he was a bit fond of the damned thing, probably due to Stockholm—it was the last he'd see of the sword, and he wished its future owner luck. The sword was a demanding bastard. (And yet, last night was going to give him _spectacular_ wank material for the future.)

Dr. Visyak took the sword from him and put it in a sheath. "Did you have a good time?" Her words were utterly innocent, but the look in her eyes couldn't have been filthier.

"I— Wha—" Dean spluttered, staring at her wide-eyed. "You _knew_."

"Well, I did call it the love of my life. If you couldn't get it out, I would've done it for you, eventually. But I thought you might be the type to appreciate doing it yourself." And with a saucy wink, she closed the door of her mansion.

 _Never mind,_ Dean thought, he definitely hoped he'd never see the sword again.

(Besides, he had Sam now. And that was more than enough for him.)

**Author's Note:**

> Dean needs the sword to kill the dragons and doesn't actually want to fuck it at first. He enjoys it later, but also wants to stop far before the sword does, and also feels guilty and overwhelmed when Sam fucks him. Basically, Dean's over his head and can't/won't say no, but is happy with the result of the sex.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Complete; no sequel planned.


End file.
